It's A Funny Thing, Friendship
by 142staircases
Summary: It's a funny thing, friendship. Life-changing, in fact. Whether for better, or for worse...


**AN: **Humor us with this one.

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It's a funny thing, friendship.

It twists and turns like a country back road. It lasts from birth until death, or fades slowly over years of neglect or solitude. For many, friends are the family that you choose.

It was like that for Bartemius Crouch, Jr.

He was sorted into Slytherin, his father's house. He would have preferred Hufflepuff—the house of his dear mother, but he got something that belonged first to his father, once again. It followed in the footsteps of his cauldron, his owl and his name.

He was the second Slytherin of the night. The first was a pale-skinned, dark-haired boy who looked underfed and overloved.

"What's your name?" he asked the boy. He hadn't been paying attention to those who had been sorted before him, and wasn't paying attention to those who were sorted after.

"Regulus. Regulus Black," was the whispered reply. Bart almost missed it under the series of applause that greeted a young boy's arrival into Hufflepuff.

It's strange how friendships get started.

Bart spent his first few months reveling in the distance from his father, thrilled to be himself—and not his father's son—for the first time in his life. Regulus was homesick and his older brother (a Gryffindor) thoroughly ignored him…or at least, ignored him enough to hurt. Bart would walk happily through the corridors of Hogwarts, a spring in his step, while Regulus would slink behind him, happy to have a friend, if nothing else.

But things changed. They always do.

In his second year, Bart's father started his rise in the ministry. He was in every day's paper, ranting about the evils of the Death Eaters and many of his Slytherin housemates (mostly older students who wanted a brat to pick on) would mock him and make him pay for his father's hatred of the Dark Lord. Regulus stood by him though, and usually got beaten up as well because Avery, Rosier, Wilkes at the lot hated his brother.

They spent most of second year nursing cuts and curses, covered in blood and muck and shame. Regulus resented his brother—the boy whom he had always revered, even if Sirius had never known it; he wished Sirius could leave the Slytherins well alone, but that didn't seem to happen. Sirius was happiest when getting into a fight with his three friends at his side, and his fights always seemed to be with the same kids who spent their evenings mocking his brother in the common room. Regulus didn't know to whom he owed more loyalty: his brother who had, until the start of Hogwarts, looked after him and told him important things, or his superiors.

Bart resented his father. But he had no struggle with loyalty.

By fourth year, things had changed again. Regulus didn't spend his evening in psychological or physical pain. He was the Seeker on the Slytherin quidditch team and had not missed the snitch, except during his first game, when he had been knocked out by a bludger the idiotic Beater hadn't seen. He was, if anything, popular for the first time in his life.

Bart wasn't. Bart skulked after his best friend, but did his best to maintain a low profile, especially after his father had ordered that Alexi Lestrange be sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss. His beatings got worse after that.

Bart threw himself into studying. It was the easiest way to avoid people. He spent hours and hours and_ hours_ in the Library. To all who saw him, he was just being zealous, already studying for his O.W.L.s—an over-achiever like his dad. Sometimes Regulus would study with him, but Bart wished that he wouldn't.

Fifth year, Regulus' popularity was less pronounced. He lost Slytherin the Quidditch Cup when the _mudblood_ Gryffindor Seeker snitched the snitch from right between his outstretched fingers. Suddenly, Bart, now a Prefect, was glad that his best friend would study with him. But Regulus hated studying in the library. Too often, he saw his brother there, reading some over-large textbook with his hand on some girl's knee. He wondered where Sirius' ease with girls came from. Regulus just felt awkward around them. Bart studied. Bart got twelve O.W.L.s. Regulus got seven.

And suddenly, they were sixth years. They felt as though they were on top of the world. Regulus was quidditch captain, and he led Slytherin into their most triumphant season since he had been at Hogwarts, thoroughly flattening Gryffindor, which seemed lost and confused without James Potter—the stellar Chaser who had been on the team six out of his seven years at Hogwarts. And Bart? Well, he began to slip a little extra into his Prefect's duties. Between studying and patrolling, he would whisper snide comments into well-chosen ears about the deserved place of mudbloods. He would taunt his father's political career loudly in the Slytherin common room.

Both boys were confident. Both boys were good-looking. Both boys were popular. Both boys were intelligent. Both boys were hard-working. They made quite the pair. In their last year of Hogwarts, Bart became Head Boy.

If there was one thing he was glad to receive from his father, it was his ability to convince people of anything. Bart convinced the rest of Hogwarts he was a caring young man, someone in whom the Muggleborns could trust, someone who was undoubtedly his father's son, through and through. His best friend knew better.

They ended their Hogwarts careers in style, winning the House and Quidditch Cups.

At the closing feast, they sat in the same seats they had sat in their first day.

"Hey Regulus?" whispered Bart.

"Yeah?" Regulus whispered back.

Bart, not taking his eyes off Dumbledore, as if choosing his words in defiance of the old man, said, "Let's join _him_."

And Regulus understood that Bart did not mean the benevolent, bearded headmaster.

It's a funny thing, friendship.

It fosters jealousy and trust, sets you on the right path or leads you astray.

Regulus invited Bart over for family dinners with his cousins, who welcomed him gladly. Bart, like his father, rose quickly in his ambitions. His information about the Ministry was invaluable to the Dark Lord. He had very little inclination to show any mercy to anyone.

And the deeper into the darkness he descended, the further away from his friendship he fell. He didn't notice when Regulus began to look shifty and nervous in the presence of other Death Eaters. When Regulus disappeared all together, Bart wondered mildly how much he cared.

It was only when he was sitting in a cell in Azkaban, wasting away, pining for his days of ambition, his lord and master, and his freedom did small memories trickle into his languishing mind of a scrawny black haired kid with a wicked smile and a jolly sense of humor.

When his father snuck him out, those memories were completely eclipsed by thoughts of revenge and glory.

It's a funny thing, friendship. Just when it can save you, make you remember who you are, and why you wanted what you wanted, it's gone.


End file.
